Ghosts of the Past
by hellogoodbye57
Summary: Brennan's past comes back to haunt her, and she naturally turns to Booth for help. Follows No Longer Pretending though you don't have to read it to understand this story, but it will help. A little bit of everything: BB fluff, casework, and Parker.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Booth finished brushing his teeth and padded to his bed, looking forward to slipping beneath the covers and having a long, restful sleep. He had just closed a particularly difficult case, so he had not had a chance to get a decent night's sleep in almost a week. Of course, he was accustomed to lack of sleep. His job at the FBI was not conducive to a regular nine to five schedule. But he could not complain too much. He loved his job, loved how he could fulfill the boyish fantasy of "catching the bad guy" and bringing justice to the families of all the victims.

Outside of work, his life was good. No, it was better than good. It was excellent, everything he had ever dreamed of. He was finally involved romantically with his partner, Dr. Temperance Brennan, affectionately called Bones by him—and only him. It was amazing to think that he could now kiss her whenever he wished (okay, not _whenever _he wished, for they had agreed to remain completely professional at work), that he could wake up next to her in the morning. In fact, in the past month since they had agreed to pursue a romantic relationship, he had spent more nights with her than without her. Not that he minded. As far as he was concerned, a night not spent with Bones was a night wasted.

He supposed he would have to mark the current night down in the "wasted" category. She had been finishing up an identification when he had stopped by the lab with dinner earlier that night. Although she had stopped work to eat with him (surprisingly without too much struggle), she had refused to come home with him, claiming she still had a great deal of work to do. He had offered to wait with her, but she had taken one look at his appearance and told him he needed to go home and get some sleep. He knew it was pointless to argue with her; it usually was. And if he was being honest with himself, he would have to admit that he truly did need the sleep. And so he had returned to his apartment alone and was now climbing into bed alone. It felt empty without her.

Despite Booth's feeling that something was missing, he fell asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow, the sleepless nights finally catching up with him. Unfortunately, he was jerked awake after far too short a time asleep by the ringing of his cell phone. It took his tired brain a moment to register what the sound was; when it finally did, he raised his torso up, supporting himself with one arm as his other hand searched for the phone on his nightstand. He happened to catch the numbers on the clock as he put his phone to his ear. 2:13. Who the hell was calling him at 2:13 in the morning?

"Yeah?" he questioned gruffly, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

"Booth?" Even with his brain muddled from sleep, he still registered the slight waver in Brennan's voice. Something was wrong. However, it was her next words which caused him to sit straight up in the bed. "I'm scared," she told him.

"I'll be right there." He practically jumped out of bed, wide-awake now. Temperance Brennan was not a woman who admitted she was scared. Sure, Booth knew when she was scared; he had seen uncertainty on her face enough times to recognize it. But she never told him she was frightened. She was strong; she refused to allow herself to rely on someone else. The fact that she had told him she was scared implied that something serious was going on.

In no time at all, he had pulled on a pair of sweatpants and an old t-shirt. Grabbing his keys, gun, badge, and phone, he was out the door, practically running to his SUV. He thought about putting the siren on, but it really was not needed, for the streets were virtually empty due to the early hour. In no time at all, he was pulling into the parking structure of her apartment building. He swung the wheel, pulling the SUV into the parking space and slamming on the brakes. Throwing the car into park, he pushed the door open with a bit more force than was absolutely necessary, slamming it behind him as he rushed into the building. He turned toward the stairs; the elevator was much too slow. His long legs made quick work of the two flights, and he was soon standing outside her room. He was relieved to note that the door was closed, and a quick test of the doorknob told him that it was also locked.

Quickly, he pulled out the key to her apartment and inserted it in the lock. Fear coiled in the pit of his stomach when he noticed that the lights were off in the apartment, and he did not immediately see her. His gun was out of its holster almost immediately, held at his side in a grip that might have seemed casual at first but which allowed for him to raise it quickly if needed. Before he went too far into her apartment, however, he heard soft sounds coming from the direction of her bedroom. He crossed the room quickly, no longer bothering to be careful as he pushed open to the door to the bedroom. He found her curled up in the center of her bed, her legs hugged to her chest. Immediately, he returned his gun to its holster, rushing to her side. "Bones, Temperance," he said, climbing onto the bed next to her and pulling her into his arms. He wanted to ask what was wrong, but he did not need to. Words were rarely needed between them. Silently, she raised a slightly shaking finger to point at something which rested at the edge of the bed.

He reached out to pick the object up, turning it carefully over in his hands. It was a silver lighter with an ornate engraving of an E. He looked at her curiously. "There's something I haven't told you," she said softly, speaking into his shoulder, her voice muffled by his shirt so that he had to strain to hear her. He was silent, tacitly encouraging her to continue. After a brief pause, she did. "I told you that I didn't have the best luck with foster families. I moved around a lot. One of the first things you learn in the foster system is that there are three types of foster parents. There is the most common type who really don't care too much; I ended up with a lot of those. I could deal with them. I stayed out of their way, and they usually stayed out of mine. Then there are the really good ones, the ones that you rarely find. They're the ones who actually care about your well-being, the ones who genuinely want to help you. I had one foster mother like that; unfortunately, her mother got pretty sick, so she had to move back home to care for her. And then there are the bad ones, the ones who only want to foster to exploit the children. They're more common than most people realize. It's why we try so hard to get out of the system. Nobody ever listens to us when we tell them what's going on. And so we're forced to run away; it's why so many foster kids end up on the street.

I had a couple of the bad parents. You've already heard about one. But he wasn't the worst. The worst was the last one I had. Brett was his name. Brett Earl. He had a temper; the smallest thing would set him off. I was staying with him and his wife and another foster girl Jenna who was fifteen at the time. I was seventeen; I had four months left in the system, and I was counting down the days.

Brett beat up on me and Jenna quite a few times while we were there, but I just gritted my teeth and let him. It was easier that way. I didn't have too much longer left in the system, and after my previous experience, I knew no one would believe me. Brett was careful; the bruises he left never lasted for long, and he never did any damage which was noticeable if we were wearing clothes. Well, one day, Jenna decided she had had enough, and when Brett came to hit her, she stood up to him. Tried to stop him from hitting her. He picked up a bookend from the shelf and raised it above his head. I knew what was coming, and I stepped forward to help her, but I was too late. Before I really knew what was happening, he had hit her over the head with the bookend. Hard. Hard enough to make her fall to the ground.

I went to her side, noticing that her head was bleeding quite profusely. When I put my fingers to her neck, I couldn't find a pulse. I told him this, and he just looked at me with his eyes taking on an expression I knew portended him hitting me. I managed to deflect the blow, but that didn't stop him." Her tone had become almost clinical as if she was describing a piece of evidence. He knew that the tone was simply her way of coping, of compartmentalizing, and he held her closer to comfort her. She had stopped crying now, but he could still feel her shaking slightly in his arms. He only wished he could take all her pain away.

"He came at me again, so I ran out of there. When he caught me, he pushed me up against the wall with his hand at my throat. I couldn't breathe. I thought he was going to kill me. He leaned in close and told me that if I told anyone what had happened that night, he would hunt me down and kill me. And then he laughed and told me that on second thought, he would just kill me anyway.

I kicked his shin, and he released his grip enough for me to wriggle free. This time, he came at me with the same bookend he had murdered Jenna with. He struck me in the back of the head, too, but since I was running, it was only a glancing blow, not enough to kill me, but enough to render me unconscious.

When I came to, I was in a shed he had behind the house. I could smell gasoline. Looking over, I saw that Jenna was lying next to me; it looked like he had doused her in gasoline. And from the smell of my clothes, he had doused me, too. I didn't see him in the shed, so I figured that he had gone back to the house to retrieve a match or something. But I didn't feel like waiting around to find out. I got up and ran out of there as fast as I could. I didn't stop running until morning when I nearly collapsed from exhaustion. I slept on the street with the other foster kids who had run away. It wasn't the most comfortable place, but I was safe. They understood what I had been through; even though they didn't know me, they would protect me.

I stayed there for a couple days. I managed to get some clothes and a little bit of money, enough to make it up to the New Jersey. I had already received acceptance to Princeton, and I managed to convince them to let me move in early. I got a job on campus which, with my scholarship, provided me with plenty of money to live off of.

I never saw Brett again. I didn't want to. I still think about that night. I wonder if I could have saved Jenna if I had been just a little bit quicker or more willing to stand up to him-"

"Shh, Bones, none of this is your fault. You were just a kid. You did everything you could do. Don't blame yourself."

"But I was there, Booth, and I didn't stop him."

"From what you just told me, I doubt you could have stopped him, Bones. Why didn't you ever report what he did?"

"I couldn't. No one believed me the first time, and they certainly wouldn't this time."

"I doubt that. If you report a murder to the authorities, they tend to take it seriously. It doesn't matter who it comes from."

"I couldn't report it to the authorities, Booth."

"Why not?"

"Because Brett was a cop. He was the authorities. And he had a lot of friends in the department. There was no one I could turn to."

"So you retreated into yourself?" Booth guessed.

"I decided that my main focus in life would be work. Forensic anthropology was an easy choice for me. I wanted to help victims like Jenna, people who were so unidentifiable by conventional means, people who would just be forgotten or discarded. Because they deserve better. It doesn't matter who they are or whether or not they were in the system. Everyone deserves respect."

"You're exactly right, Bones." He turned and pressed his lips to her temple.

"There's a note in the lighter," Brennan muttered. Booth flipped it open, catching the small piece of white paper which floated out. Turning it over, he barely managed to make out the hastily-scrawled words in the dim light of the room. The note simply read, "I found you, Tempe. Just like I promised." The words made Booth's blood run cold, and he unconsciously pulled her closer. He would protect her, no matter what it took. She meant too much for him to lose.

"I'm sorry if I woke you up, Booth, but I didn't know who else to call."

"No, Bones, you don't have to apologize. You never have to apologize for being afraid. I'll let you in on a secret." He pulled back slightly so that he could tilt her chin up so that they were face to face. "I'm scared sometimes, too."

She gave him a watery smile, and he leaned forward to press a gentle kiss to her lips. When they slowly separated, he gently lay her back on the bed. "Why don't you try to get some sleep, Bones? I'm going to call in a couple agents, get them to set up a perimeter around your apartment. This guy's not getting anywhere near you." He started to get up, but she grabbed his hand before he could move.

"Booth, could you just. . . stay here for a little while? I don't need a bunch of agents. All I really need right now is you." He looked down at her pleading blue eyes, still wet with tears, and he immediately put his phone away. He could not deny her anything. Slipping out of his pants and t-shirt, he lay down next to her, tugging her gently into his arms. She curled against his body, letting his familiar warmth comfort her and chase away the demons that the note had brought back. She was no longer the scrawny foster kid. She was a strong, independent woman now. And she had a family. He was lying right behind her. They may not have been traditional, but they were family. And that was all that mattered.

Booth wrapped one arm around her waist, letting his hand rest on her stomach. His fingers lazily traced the smooth skin of her stomach, soothing her into sleep while his other hand played with her hair. He felt her slowly beginning to relax in his arms and leaned forward to place a soft kiss on the back of her neck. She sighed softly when his warm lips touched her skin, and he smiled. Her breathing was growing deeper and more regular, and he knew she was close to sleep. He continued his gentle, soothing caresses for a few more minutes until he was sure she had succumbed to slumber before silently slipping out of bed. He walked into the living room so as not to disturb her as he called in backup. Once he was assured that agents were on their way, he made his way back to the bedroom, slipping under the sheet behind her again. For now, he could sleep soundly, knowing that the woman who was more important to him than life itself was safely in his arms.

Booth awoke first the following morning and was happy to find Brennan still fast asleep in his arms. He pressed a soft kiss to her temple before slipping out of the bed and padding into the kitchen. A quick check out the window ensured him that agents were indeed watching the apartment, and he relaxed slightly. Once in the kitchen, he began to pull out all the necessary ingredients for omelets, moving around with practiced ease. He had been at her apartment enough to be comfortable in her kitchen. It was a nice feeling.

As he finished chopping the peppers, he heard a noise behind him and turned quickly to find a tired-looking Brennan shuffling into the kitchen. He flashed her a smile. "Breakfast should be ready in about ten minutes. Coffee's over there." He pointed to a pot he had started earlier. She nodded, taking a cup and sipping gratefully. He turned back to the omelets, cracking the first egg.

After they had eaten and dressed, Booth called in more agents to search the apartment for any signs of Brett Earl. Brennan had recovered from her fright and spent most of the time ordering the agents around and warning them to be careful around her expensive artifacts until Booth finally convinced her to back off. Another agent who Booth introduced as Hathaway walked over to interview them. "Dr. Brennan, I understand you found the lighter when you arrived home last night?"

"Yes, I got home around 2:00 in the morning. Nothing seemed amiss at the time; my door was still closed and locked, and everything looked to be in place. But then when I got into my bedroom, I found the lighter on my pillow." Brennan's voice was devoid of any emotion as she spoke, and Booth watched her carefully for any sign of the fear she had shown last night. But it seemed to have completely disappeared; determination now replaced it, a determination to find Brett Earl.

"And did you handle it?"

"Yes, Booth and I both handled it."

Hathaway made a note on his chart. "You said you had an idea of who the lighter belonged to?"

"Yes, his name is Brett Earl. I knew him a long time ago. He promised-" Here, she paused briefly, collecting herself. Booth placed a comforting hand on her lower back. "He promised that he would kill me. He almost did, too. He doused me in gasoline, but I got away before he could light it."

"I guess that explains the lighter. What exactly was your relation to Brett Earl?"

"He was my foster father."

"And why did he threaten to kill you?"

Brennan looked to Booth who nodded, silently telling her that he would support her no matter what she decided. It was her decision how much she should tell. "I witnessed him murder another foster girl," Brennan stated finally.

Hathaway's pen paused in mid-sentence, and he looked up at Brennan, confusion etched on his face. When she gave no indication of offering a further explanation, he turned to Booth who remained similarly stony-faced. "And you didn't report this murder at the time?" Hathaway asked.

"Earl was a cop. There was no one to report it to. Now, if you don't have any further questions, I think I'm going to make sure that they don't harm anything." With that, Brennan stood. Booth followed after her, shaking his head when Hathaway made a move to follow them. Booth knew that she was not going to answer any further questions. And once she made up her mind not to do something, it was impossible to change it.

The agents found nothing that gave any indication of Earl's whereabouts, and they packed up two hours later no closer to finding him than they had been when they came in. "I want to get the lighter to the lab," Brennan announced as they left. "Hodgins might be able to find particulates on it which could lead us to Earl."

"Whoa, slow down, Bones. You're not going anywhere. You're too close to this one. The guy is after you, for crying out loud. You're not going to go harrowing off to the lab; you need to stay somewhere where it's safe."

"Booth, the security at the lab is excellent. He's much less likely to get to me there than he is to get to me here."

"I seem to remember that the security at the lab has its own set of problems."

"That was a fluke, Booth."

Booth looked at her, noticing the fierce determination shining in her eyes. He sighed. "Fine, Bones. But I'm coming with you. Until this guy is in custody, I'm sticking to your side like glue." She nodded curtly and entered her bedroom to retrieve her coat. He followed her out of the apartment, shutting and locking the door behind them.

When they reached the lab, Hodgins was already on the platform studying something on the computer monitor. When he heard the beep as Brennan scanned her id card, he turned to face the partners. "Dr. Brennan, I heard what happened. Anything we can do to help catch the bastard?"

"I'd like you to analyze this and see if you can find anything," she said, handing Hodgins the silver lighter. He examined the object for a moment before nodding.

"I'll get back to you as soon as I can," he promised.

Brennan turned to Booth who was finishing up a conversation with someone on the phone. "That was Charlie," he explained as he hung up. "Apparently, Brett Earl disappeared off the face of the earth about ten years ago. He and his wife split, and that's the last official record of him. There's no death certificate, no driver's license, nothing. Charlie's still digging to see if he can find something, but it's not looking good. If Earl was a cop, he knows how to hide."

"Find a picture of him from ten years ago and have Angela run it through the aging program. We can at least get a face for him," Brennan said. Booth nodded, already dialing. As he turned away to speak with the person on the other end, Brennan heard Cam's voice behind her.

"Dr. Brennan. I didn't expect you in today," Cam remarked.

"I need to work," Brennan explained. Cam nodded.

"If you need time,. . ."

"I'll be fine. I just want to find this guy."

"Well, we're all here to help." Brennan nodded in thanks, turning back to Booth who had finished the phone call.

"They're faxing the photo over now," he told her. "Hopefully, Angela will be able to do something with it. In the meantime, I think we should go speak with the ex-wife."

The drive to the address provided for Lauren Earl took about fifteen minutes. Booth and Brennan barely spoke on the way, but the silence was a comfortable one; it was one of two people who had known each other long enough that no words were needed between them. Brennan pretended not to notice the dark-colored sedan that had been following them the entire trip, only once coming close enough for her to make out the two men wearing sunglasses and dark suits that screamed FBI sitting in the front seats. She thought Booth was being paranoid, but she had long ago accepted that he was often over-protective and had realized that it was rarely worth arguing over. If she complained, he would simply flash her his charm smile and explain that he was only looking out for her best interests.

Booth stopped the car outside of a run-down house nestled in a grove of trees. He stepped out of the SUV, sliding his sunglasses onto his face as he peered up at the sagging roof and boarded windows. "Nice place," he remarked sarcastically.

"How could anyone live here?" Brennan questioned, stepping toward the house.

"Some people don't mind squalor," Booth told her, following her lead with his hand at her back. When they reached the front door, he raised the ancient brass knocker and knocked loudly. "Ms. Earl?" he called out. "Are you home?" He received no response, so he knocked again. "Ms. Earl?"

"The car's in the driveway," Brennan observed, nodding to an old station wagon.

"Yeah. I'm not getting a good feeling about this. Step back, Bones." He turned so that his shoulder was facing the door, lowering it so that he could get more force.

"Booth?"

"Yeah?" He looked over at Brennan who simply turned the doorknob and pushed the door open. "Oh." Booth straightened, turning to follow her inside. "I guess that way is a bit easier." Brennan shook her head, stepping through the dusty foyer and into the small, dirty kitchen. Flies buzzed around a pile of dirty dishes in the sink.

"Somebody lived here," Brennan pointed out.

"But probably not recently," Booth said, crinkling his nose as the smell of rotting food wafted over him. He swatted a fly away from his face.

"Ms. Earl?" Brennan called loudly.

"I don't think she's here, Bones," Booth said, following her into a dusty living room. Brennan, as usual, ignored him.

"Ms. Earl?" she shouted again, now heading for a creaky wooden staircase. Sighing, Booth followed her. A quick check of the rooms upstairs told them that she was not in the house. Somewhat frustrated, Booth followed Brennan back into the kitchen. As he was swatting flies away, he heard Brennan's voice. "Booth?" Turning, he found her standing by a glass door which led to a small porch that opened into the backyard. "I think I found Ms. Earl," she told him.

He followed her pointing figure and saw what looked like the remains of a bonfire on the grass. What interested him most, however, was not the burnt wood. It was the charred skull sitting half-buried near the bottom of the pile, one empty eye socket staring up at him like some kind of creepy omen.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Within half an hour, Booth had an FBI forensics team combing through the entire house for any evidence that Earl might have left. "Victim is definitely female," Brennan announced from her crouched position in front of the charred remains. The wood had all been removed and tagged as evidence, leaving the complete skeleton exposed for Brennan to examine. "The facial features indicate Caucasian. Likely mid-fifties. I'd estimate height at approximately 165 centimeters."

"So, is it Lauren Earl or not?" Booth inquired, knowing even as he asked the question that he would not receive a yes or no answer.

"I can't say anything definitively until I've run dental records. But my preliminary results are consistent with Lauren Earl."

"Okay, so now this guy is looking at at least double homicide."

"We don't know for sure that Brett Earl killed this woman," Brennan pointed out.

"My gut's saying he did it." Booth looked down at the burned corpse in front of him. "I mean, it all fits. She was his wife; she probably knew too much, and now he's cleaning up loose ends. Besides, burning seems to be his preferred method of killing." Booth made a face of disgust, and Brennan knew this one was hitting him hard, too. She stood, placing a comforting hand on his bicep.

"Get her back to the lab. We'll figure out who did this." Booth smiled at her and nodded before turning to the agents to begin giving orders.

A short time later, Brennan stood next to the examination table, her hair pulled back, her lab coat over her shoulders but not buttoned. "What do we have, Mr. Fisher?" she questioned, bending over the body.

"Multiple fractures to the left metacarpals as if her hand were crushed."

"They're all fairly localized," Brennan remarked, pointing to the small fractures on the bones. "From the shape of the pattern, I'd say her hand was crushed by the heel of a shoe." Brennan swallowed. She had felt Earl's hand on her foot before, and it was not a pleasant experience.

"The right wrist was broken, and the right shoulder was dislocated."

Brennan nodded. "Indications that her arm was twisted violently behind her back."

"Other than that, I found no recent injuries on the bones. She has a number of healed injuries, however. Ribs five, six, and nine show breaks that have healed. Actually, nine appears to have broken in two places. There are also indications that the left ulna and right radius have been fractured, and the right tibia shows evidence of a previous fracture." He pointed to each injury as he named it.

"Any indication of cause of death?"

"Nothing that I can find. The skull shows no fracture, and there is no indication of pooling blood from a subdural hematoma. There is, however, a small dimple on the back of the skull. But the force needed to cause such an injury would not be nearly enough to kill her."

"So she was burned alive," Brennan reasoned. "He knocked her out with a blow to the head and then burned her."

"It would seem that way, yes. I've only finished the skull; I still need to finish cleaning the rest of the bones, but so far, I have found no other cause of death."

"I've got a face for Brett Earl," Angela announced, waving a folder of papers as she joined Brennan and Fisher on the platform. She showed a picture of a scowling man in his late fifties. "Not exactly easy on the eyes," Angela added.

"He's a murderer, Ange," Brennan reminded her friend.

"I know that. I just didn't expect him to be so. . . murderer-like."

"I heard you got a face for me, Ange," Booth said, swiping his way onto the platform, placing his phone back in his pocket. He had been pacing around the lab talking to someone on it for the past ten minutes. Brennan raised her eyebrows when he approached. "Cullen," he said, answering her unspoken question. "I got an earful for not bringing agents in last night when you first found the lighter. I told him that it wouldn't have helped us at all and that it wasn't really the right time, but you know Cullen. He doesn't like to listen to much of anything. He told me he had half a mind to pull me off of this one. Thinks I'm too close."

"You are too close."

"Doesn't matter. I'm not leaving your side."

"What if Cullen forces you to leave?"

"He can't."

"He's your boss."

"If he tries, I'll quit. Then we don't have to worry about that problem."

"Booth, you can't quit."

"Bones, the most important thing to me is your safety. And if I have to quit to ensure it, then I'll quit. Fortunately, I'm not going to have to stoop to that level. Cullen agreed that I was probably the best agent to watch your back especially since you tend to frighten away most of the other agents." He grinned.

"Aww, you two are too cute," Angela remarked, reminding them both that she was still on the platform watching them. Booth quickly turned to her.

"Didn't you have a face for me, Angela?"

"Yeah, right here."

"Good. Fax it to the FBI. I'll tell them to expect it." He flipped open his phone again. As he started to dial, he noticed Brennan leaving the platform.

"Bones, where are you going?" he called to her.

"Back to my office. I was unaware that I needed your permission to walk around in my own lab," she said icily.

"Just trying to keep you safe, Bones," he told her, jogging to reach her side. She sighed as they walked together into her office.

An hour later, Booth was bored. He had finished all the paperwork he needed to finish and had even done part of Brennan's—at least, he had completed as much as he could. He had left the more sciencey parts to her. Brennan had been typing something for the entire hour-long period; when he tried to read what it was over her shoulder, she minimized the window and scolded him for being nosy.

"Come on, Bones, I'm your boyfriend. I'm allowed to see these things," he told her, flashing her his charm smile.

"I didn't realize that our being in a relationship gave you a right to pry into my private life," she snapped at him. "Besides, I thought we agreed not to use the terms boyfriend and girlfriend. They're too juvenile."

"What would you prefer, Bones? Significant other?"

"That is acceptable, yes. Or partner works, too."

"Partner confuses people, Bones. We were partners before."

"And we're still partners, too. Just in a different way."

"Well, partners should share things, too. So can I see what you're writing?"

"No."

"What is it?"

"My next book."

"You've started already? You just gave your last one to the editor. I thought it was still going through drafts and stuff."

"It is. But my editor has been pestering me to increase the frequency of my books, so I decided to get a head start on this one. Besides, I had an idea for the plot."

"Why can't I read it?"

"You can read it when it comes out like everyone else."

"You let David read it when you two were dating."

"The answer is still no, Booth."

"But, Bones," he whined.

"Look, Booth, my relationship with you is completely different than my relationship with David," she told him without thinking. As soon as she realized what she had said, she abruptly closed her mouth. She did not mean to say that. Sure, it was the truth, but she did not want Booth to know that. She could barely explain to herself what was different about her relationship with Booth. There was no way she would be able to explain it to him.

"Oh?" Booth suddenly lost interest in the book. "And how is that?"

Brennan bit her lip. "I don't really know," she told him.

"Oh, I think you do." His eyes were dark now, his voice soft as he approached her. "I think you know exactly how it's different. It's different because you go to bed every night and wake up every morning thinking of me. It's different because you realize that you really aren't complete unless I'm around. It's different because even something as simple as a casual brush of my hand against yours makes you shiver. It's different because for the first time in your life, you've considered settling down. For the first time in your life, you want monogamy. You want to go to bed with me every night and wake up with me in the morning. And that realization scares the hell out of you." He was close now, so close that she could feel his breath washing over her face with each word that he spoke. She knew that they were in the lab and that they should not be standing this close. If anyone were to walk in, that person would immediately know about the relationship they had tried so hard to keep secret. But she could not move away from him. She was mesmerized by his eyes, the eyes that could always strip her bare, see her innermost thoughts and feelings. "You wanna know how I know this?" he questioned, his voice still not above a whisper. She nodded weakly, not trusting herself to speak. "I know it because I feel the same way about you. I want you so bad it hurts sometimes, Temperance. You mean the world to me, and I can't imagine my life without you. So you're absolutely right when you say our relationship is different. Our relationship is different than any relationship I've ever had before. And that's how I know it's going to last."

Brennan did not know what compelled her to utter the words she did after Booth's impassioned speech, but before she could stop herself, they were tumbling out of her mouth. "I want to have a baby. With you."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Booth blinked, taken aback. Where the hell had that come from? He knew Brennan was blunt, but the announcement was unexpected even from her. "Baby?" he finally asked. It was a stupid question, he knew, but he was still trying to figure out what had just happened. How did she go from talking about how their relationship was different to wanting a baby? And since when did she want kids?

"Yes, a baby. I've actually been thinking about it for a little while now, and it seems like a rational decision. I know that I originally did not want to bring a child into this world, but I think that with my intelligence, it would be a waste for me not to pass on my genes. Did you know that statistically, intelligent people have fewer children? If the pattern continues, the average IQ could-"

"Bones." Booth stopped her rant by placing a finger against her lips. "Don't make this about science," he pleaded.

"Why not? Procreation is all about science. Genetics are about science. I was thinking that you would be the perfect candidate for a father. Your features are quite well-proportioned, and you're a very attractive man. Plus, you excel in places where I am lacking, most notably in social skills and-"

"Bones, when I said don't make this about science, I meant it. Having a kid is not something you do because you want to pass on your genes or ensure that the intelligence of the world remains on par. It's something you do because you love someone and want to share something special with them."

"But-"

Booth pressed his finger more firmly against her lips. "No buts, Bones. Now, what made you come to this decision now? Why not decide to have a kid three months ago? Why the sudden change of heart?"

She was silent for a moment. She knew the answer to that question, but she was afraid to say it aloud. Because it was not rational. And she, Temperance Brennan, was always rational. Unfortunately, he was not going to let her off easy; he simply sat back, watching her, waiting for her answer. Finally, she decided to simply throw caution to the wind. "Because of you," she answered quietly.

"Because of me?"

"Yes, because of you, goddammit!" Her voice was louder now though she lowered it a bit when she realized people could probably hear them outside of the office. "Because you're right. Because our relationship is different. Because after seeing how great you are with Parker and how much you love him, I can't help but wonder what it will be like if you got to be a father full time. And I can't help but wonder what it would be like to be a mother. It's not rational; this is probably just my body's way of trying to get me to procreate to continue the species. But I can't help but want a baby, Booth. Someone who will love me unconditionally."

Booth smiled at her. He knew it was hard for her to admit what she had just admitted, but he also knew that she needed to admit it. She had tried to hide her emotions for too long. "But you don't need me to do that," he pointed out, flinching at the thought even as he made the suggestion. He was certainly not going to allow Brennan to have a baby with anyone else. But he needed _her_ to realize that she could not do that. "I'm sure there are plenty of guys out there with desirable genetic traits. I can't be the only person with 'symmetrical features'."

"I want you to be the father," she reiterated.

"Why?"

"Because. . . because. . . because I think I love you! Because I want to raise the baby with you. I want this baby to be a part of you and a part of me. Because for some reason, whenever I think about having a baby, you're always the first person I think about. It's not logical. I don't know why, but I only want this with you. Just like I only want to settle down with you. Just like-"

Her words were cut off by his lips as he brought her closer to him in a passionate kiss, heedless of the people bustling around the lab outside the office. He knew one of the squints could walk in at any minute, and they would both be busted, but he did not care. All he cared about were the words that had just come out of her mouth, the words he had never thought he would hear her utter. She loved him. He could not believe how lucky he was.

"Hey, Bones?" he asked, pulling away slightly. They still sat so that their lips were mere centimeters apart, and it took all his willpower not to kiss her again.

"Hmm?" Her eyes were half-closed in pleasure, and she did not think she would be capable of forming complete sentences at that moment.

"You already have someone who loves you unconditionally."

She opened her eyes fully to look at him and saw that he wore a small smile as he watched her. Though she was bad with people, she had known him for long enough to know that he spoke the truth. She could see it in his eyes. "Why?" she questioned.

"Why what?"

"Why do you love me?"

"Why do I love you?" He looked at her in confusion. Surely she realized how special she was. Surely she understood. . . .

But no. Brennan never really had understood. She had grown so accustomed to people leaving her that she had begun to assume that it had something to do with her, that for some reason, she simply was not good enough for people to stick around. "I love you because you're you, Bones. Because you're the most intelligent woman I've ever met, but you're completely clueless when it comes to social interactions or pop culture. Because you're not afraid to speak your mind. Because you always keep me guessing. Because you're strong and independent. Because you genuinely care for other people. Because you work so hard to give people answers even when everyone else has given up. Because despite everything you've been through, you've come so far in life. You didn't take the easy way out; you never got handed anything, and yet you've done so well. Because-"

This time, it was Brennan's turn to stop his impassioned speech in a manner that both partners were beginning to enjoy immensely. Their lips slid over one another for a few seconds before Booth pulled away. "Did that answer your question?"

"Yeah," Brennan answered breathlessly. She smiled. It was odd for her to find someone who genuinely cared for her not in spite of her faults but because of them. Every other man she had dated had tried to change her. But with Booth, there was no pressure. She knew he was a family man at heart; he wanted marriage and kids. But he knew that was not what she wanted, and he never pressed the issue. She had asked him about it once, and he had waved her off, telling her that she and Parker were enough for him. He had told her that all he wanted was to be with her for the rest of their lives, that that would make him happier than anything else. At first, she thought he was simply trying to appease her, to say what he knew she wanted to hear. But she had come to realize that he was speaking the truth. He really did not care about anything else.

"Earth to Bones? What are you thinking about?" Booth questioned.

"You," she answered honestly.

He grinned. "Good thoughts, I hope."

"Thank you," she said suddenly.

"You're welcome," he responded, puzzled. "Any particular thing you want to thank me for?"

"For being you."

"Oh, well, that comes naturally."

"I mean, for not trying to change me. For not pressuring me."

"I wouldn't want you to be anything but you, Bones. It just wouldn't be the same if you changed. I fell in love with you just the way you are."

"You know, you're the first person who's ever told me that."

"And I plan on being the last, too."

"I think I would like that." Brennan had never before imagined herself settling down with one person for the rest of her life; after all, animals did not typically spend their entire lives with one partner. But now, she could not imagine being with anyone else except Booth. "Booth, you never answered my first question," she pointed out.

"I don't believe there was a question there. It was simply a statement."

"Seeley, do you want to have a baby with me?"

Instead of answering with words, he stood, pulling her up with him. Wrapping his arms around her body, he brought her to him in a kiss full of promise. His tongue slid over her lips, and she parted them, inviting him in. As he deepened the kiss, he backed her up against the wall behind her desk, steadying them with one hand as his other hand moved over her back. She slid her hands slowly down his back, moving from his shoulder blades to his hips, loving the feel of his powerful muscles beneath her fingers. He pressed closer to her still, and she could clearly feel evidence of his arousal. Her own arousal was steadily growing as the kiss grew more heated and the hand on her back danced dangerously lower.

After a couple minutes of furious kissing, he moved his lips from hers, bringing them to her neck. "Booth," she moaned, trying to keep herself from completely succumbing to desire (a task which was steadily becoming more difficult). "Booth," she said again. Instead of responding to her, he simply moved his lips lower. She groaned, shutting her eyes, still trying to fight her desire.

"You taste so damn good," he growled.

"Booth, we're at work," she protested weakly.

"Consider this a lunch break."

"We're in my office."

"You said you wanted a baby. Surely you know the necessary actions for such an occurrence," he said, his voice low and husky.

"But we don't have to do this-" She broke off with a gasp as his teeth hit a sensitive spot. "Here," she finished breathlessly.

"I don't think I can make it home right now, Bones," he told her, pressing his arousal into her side to prove his point. "Besides, we still haven't christened this office."

"I don't know what that means."

His lips curled into a smile against her skin. "I'll show you," he promised. Turning them around, he led her to the couch. The blinds were already closed, so he simply turned the deadbolt of the door as they passed. Gently, he lay her back on the couch. "I love you," he whispered as he leaned over her, supported by his elbows. He loved that he could say those three words to her now without fear of her running away from him. He intended to use them as much as possible now that he could, to assure her that what he felt was real and that he was in it for the long haul.

She smiled lazily up at him. "I love you, too," she told him.

Sometime later, they lay tangled together on the couch, their naked bodies pressed tightly together, partially because of the limited space on the sofa and partially because of their need to be close to one another. Booth was trailing kisses down Brennan's arm. "Mm, Booth, we need to get up. Someone's bound to come to talk to me sooner or later," Brennan pointed out logically.

"Yeah." Still, he did not remove his arm from around her waist.

"Seriously, Booth, we need to get up." She started to pull away from him, and he released her with a sigh.

"Fine." Instead of standing up, however, he lay back on the couch and watched as she gathered her clothes. Eventually, she turned to look at him, her eyebrows raised.

"Get up and get dressed," she told him, throwing his boxers at him. He chuckled as they hit him in the chest, sitting up and slipping them on. After they were both dressed, Brennan pulled a hair brush from her desk and ran it through her hair a couple times. "How do I look?" she inquired.

"Beautiful," he answered without hesitation.

"I mean, can you tell what we were doing?"

"Well, I can, of course, But I think you should be okay with everyone else."

"Good. Because Angela's going to catch on if anything is out of place." She walked to the mirror, straightening her blouse. As she messed with the collar, she suddenly noticed something. "Booth!" she said exasperatedly.

"What?" he asked, wondering what he had done this time. In answer, she turned to him, pulling the collar of her shirt down slightly to reveal the large red mark on her neck. His lips started to curve into a smile, but he suppressed it quickly upon seeing her murderous expression. "Come on, Bones, it's just a hickey."

"If Angela sees it, she's going to know."

"Keep your collar like this," he told her, adjusting the fabric to cover the mark. "You can barely see it. And if you wear your lab coat on top of it, no one will be able to see anything." He picked up her lab coat from the coat rack by her door, holding it out for her. She slipped her arms inside it, still glaring at him.

"You should have been more careful," she scolded.

"Sorry. But when I'm around you, I tend to lose all self-control." He leaned forward as he said the last words, noting with some satisfaction that her eyes darkened at the proximity. With one last, lingering kiss, he moved away. She blinked a couple times to clear her mind and force herself to think of the case at hand before exiting the office, Booth trailing behind her.

"Have you finished cleaning the bones, Mr. Fisher?" she inquired as she made her way onto the platform.

"Yes, Dr. Brennan. I was going to tell you, but your door was locked."

Brennan felt her cheeks grow hot, but she forced her voice to remain steady as she said, "I was finishing up a chapter for my book, and I didn't want any interruptions."

Luckily, the intern bought her story. "Well, cleaning the bones allowed me to find a few other marks on the bones," Fisher said, stepping off the platform and leading the two partners to a side room where a magnified picture of the radius and ulna was displayed. Booth shivered slightly at the sight of the now clean bones lying neatly on the table. No matter how many bodies he saw, it did not make him any more accustomed to the sight. The brief interlude in the office had almost made him forget about the murderer who was after Brennan, but reality had suddenly come crashing back down on him at the sight of the body. "There is slight scoring on the radius and ulna of both arms," Fisher was explaining. "It looks like it was made by a knife of some kind. The marks are only on part of the bones, however; the knife would never have cut the radial or ulnar arteries." Booth peered up at the pictures, trying and failing to see the marks that Fisher was speaking of.

"So she cut herself?" Booth inquired.

"She didn't do it." Brennan spoke quietly, and Booth turned to see her intently focused on the pictures in front of her, her eyes glazed over.

"Bones." He reached for her, but she shook him away.

"I'm fine, Booth."

He looked as if he did not believe her, but he did not press the issue in front of her intern. Fisher was already watching the two closely.

"Did you confirm her identity?" Brennan asked.

"Dental records match," Fisher announced.

"Okay. Finish cataloguing the injuries. Make sure you do a thorough examination. We don't want to miss anything."

"Of course, Dr. Brennan."

Brennan strode out of the room, Booth still tailing her as she made her way to Hodgins' office. When she entered, he spun around in his chair. "I didn't find anything out of the ordinary on the lighter unfortunately," he announced. "There were traces of lacquer and sawdust from the pinus strobus plant."

"Pinus what?"

"It's colloquially referred to as the white pine. It's a common wood used for furniture and other household items."

"So whoever handled the lighter was likely into woodworking," Booth deduced, looking at Brennan. Hodgins nodded in answer.

"It was Earl's main hobby," Brennan said, answering his unspoken question. "He used to have a shed out behind the house. He would disappear in there for hours at a time; we always looked forward to those periods when he was gone. At least then we could be assured that he wasn't going to touch us."

"Okay, so this indicates that the lighter does indeed belong to Earl. But we already suspected that; can you tell us anything else about him? Maybe where he was?"

"Sorry, man, I can only work with what I have."

Booth sighed in frustration, turning to leave the office. As he was about to walk through the door, he nearly ran straight into Angela who was entering with a file folder clutched in her hand. "I think I found the reason that Earl has surfaced again now," Angela announced, waving the folder. She walked to the desk and placed it on the surface, opening it. "A week ago, a construction company in Virginia was digging to lay the foundation for a new building. They happened to come across this." She flipped to a picture of a blackened skeleton. "The report indicates that it was a female Caucasian in her mid-teens, likely dead for twelve to seventeen years."

"Why didn't the FBI get the case?" Booth questioned, pouring over the information.

"The body was found near Richmond, so the Richmond cops took over. They're fairly experienced in handling murder investigations, so I guess they saw no reason to call in the FBI. The case is still open."

"They don't have any suspects listed," Booth noted.

"They haven't identified the victim yet," Angela said. Booth nodded, already dialing. As soon as the phone connected, he began giving instructions to have the body shipped from Richmond to the Jeffersonian. Angela watched him go, a look in her eyes that Brennan knew well. "I love it when he gets all authoritative," she said.

"Hey!" Hodgins exclaimed from beside her.

"Don't worry, Hodgie, I love you all the time," she assured him, patting his cheek. "But sometimes, watching him, I just. . . ooh." Brennan simply shook her head at her friend and followed her partner out of the room.

"They're bringing the body over now," Booth informed her as she joined him. "It should be here in a couple hours. What do you say we head to Wong Foo's to grab some lunch while we wait?"

"I thought we already had our lunch break," Brennan reminded him.

"Nothing says you can't take two," Booth told her. "Besides, there's not really much you can do here until that body arrives, so lets go." Brennan sighed, knowing he was right. Shedding her lab coat, she adjusted her hair to cover the mark before following him out of the lab.

As they sat in their usual booth waiting for Sid to bring the food they had never ordered, Booth reached across the table to cover one of Brennan's hands with his own. She looked up at him, noting the concern in his eyes. "How are you handling all this?" he questioned. "You still holding up okay?"

"I'm fine, Booth," she told him, her tone slightly exasperated. "I can compartmentalize. This hasn't affected me."

"That's bullshit, and you know it."

"Maybe it's affected me, but it's only made me more determined to find the bastard. You're worrying over nothing. I'm okay."

He looked doubtful, but he still pulled his hand away. "Okay, Bones, I'll take that for now. But I want to know the minute that changes. I think this has affected you more than you're willing to admit."

"I didn't realize you were a psychologist, Booth."

"I'm not. But I know you. I know that you're not quite as 'fine' as you say. Just remember that I'm here, Temperance. I'm not going to leave you." She said nothing; she simply stared at her knuckles until their food arrived. As they began to eat, Booth finally worked up the courage to ask a question that had been bugging him since their discussion earlier that day. "Bones? This whole baby thing?"

"What about it?" She looked up at him sharply. Was he backing out? Did he not actually want to have a baby with her? Was he simply saying that to make her feel better?

"Don't worry, I'm not having second thoughts. It would be an honor to have a baby with you," he told her. As usual, he had read her mind, sensed her insecurities. "I just wanted to make sure that this is what you really wanted. That this decision wasn't spurred by stress from the case or something similar."

"Booth, you should know by now that I rarely let anything stop me from making logical decisions. I've actually been thinking about having a baby with you for a couple weeks now. I just did not voice my desire until earlier."

"So if we go ahead with this, there will be no regrets later?"

"None. I want this, Booth, and I want it with you."

His face broke into a wide smile. "Good."

The body had still not arrived when they reentered the lab. Brennan walked up to the platform to examine some additional magnified pictures she had asked Fisher to take of the previous body. Booth stood back slightly where he could still see her, flipping his poker chip in the air and catching it neatly in his hand. "You're staring," a voice behind him remarked, startling him. The poker chip clattered to the floor.

"I'm just making sure she's okay, Angela," he said, bending to retrieve the chip.

"Uh-huh." Angela's tone was one of disbelief. "She's in one of the most well-secured buildings in this country. No one's going to get to her."

"People have gotten in here before."

"You know as well as I do that she's perfectly safe up there. But that doesn't stop you from staring at her like a lovesick puppy."

"I'm not lovesick," he argued.

"Whatever you say, Hot Stuff." With that, Angela walked away.

Somewhat frustrated now, Booth sunk into a nearby chair in front of one of the lab computers. The screen asked him to log in; it did not take him long to guess Brennan's username and password. Once he had logged on, he pulled up the case file that Angela had earlier shown him, reading it carefully to see if he had missed anything in his first cursory examination of the information.

The body arrived about forty-five minutes later, and Brennan directed the two techs to move it to the examination table. Booth stood up and moved to the platform, having gleaned no additional information even after a thorough read-through of the file. Brennan was already unwrapping the body, a recorder sitting on the table beside her. "Victim is Caucasian," she dictated. "Adolescent. Female." She completely unwrapped the body, bending closer to examine it. "Multiple fractures of the both tibia and of multiple ribs. Fractures of the carpals on both hands, indications that the wrists were twisted violently." She swallowed hard and closed her eyes, willing herself to remain in control as she examined the girl who had experienced the same hell she had. The only difference was that Brennan had lived to tell the tale.

She saw Booth moving around the table to comfort her, but she stopped his approach with her eyes. "Cause of death appears to be blunt force trauma to the head. The size of the fracture indicates that death was likely instantaneous. The body appears to have been burned post-mortem." Booth watched her for a couple more minutes as she continued the examination. He knew she was hurting, but he also knew that she needed to do the autopsy for herself. It was her way of dealing with her friend's death. Quietly, he left the platform, seating himself in front of the computer once again to discover whatever he could about Brett Earl.

"How'd you get on that computer?" a voice asked about thirty minutes later. Booth spun around sheepishly to face Brennan.

"I used your credentials."

"But you don't know my password."

"It wasn't hard to guess, Bones. Are you finished?"

"I've done my preliminary examination. Mr. Fisher is cleaning the bones now."

"Good. I've got an address for Brett Earl's brother. I say we should pay him a visit, see if he has any idea of his brother's whereabouts."

"Okay. Let's go."

Jason Earl lived on a small farm which was, as far as Booth could tell, quite literally in the middle of nowhere. The closest house was nearly a mile away from the ramshackle structure. He pulled the SUV up in front of it, its tires crunching on the gravel. Shutting off the engine, he exited the vehicle and approached the house, Brennan by his side. There was no doorbell, so he pulled open the torn screen door and knocked loudly on the door.

They waited for a minute or so, and Booth was about to knock again when they heard a shuffling sound inside. A few seconds later, the door swung open to reveal a balding man in his early fifties. Torn jeans stretched around his hefty waistline, held up by a pair of green suspenders which clashed horribly with his flannel shirt. His beady black eyes peered suspiciously at the two partners. "I ain't a religious man, and I don't intend on changin', so you can just git on yer way."

"I'm Special Agent Booth with the FBI, and this is my partner, Dr. Temperance Brennan," Booth introduced, pulling his badge from his coat. "We'd like to ask you a few questions."

"What about? I ain't done nothin' against the law."

"It's about your brother, sir," Booth told him.

"Brett? I ain't seen him in years."

"Have you had any contact with him recently?" Booth inquired. "Any phone calls, letters, emails?"

"Nah, we never really got along. He was always on my case when we was growin' up. Thought I couldn't do anythin' right. Once he left for college, I didn't really see him much any more."

"When was the last time you saw your brother, sir?"

"Musta been 'bout ten, eleven years ago. He came out here to tell me he was leavin'. Said somethin' 'bout goin' into hidin'. Never really told me why, and I didn't ask. Figured he was just tryin' to git away from his missus or somethin'. She always struck me as rather annoyin'. I don't know why he even married her; probably 'cuz no one else wanted to look at his ugly mug for the rest of her life. Anyway, I always knew that wouldn't last long; I was actually surprised it lasted as long as it did."

"He had marital problems?"

"Who doesn't?"

"Do you know if he ever hit his wife?"

"I wouldn't doubt that he slapped her around a bit. Brett always had to be in control, even when we was younga. He liked to push me around, too, 'cuz I was smaller than him. He liked the power, you know?"

"Were you aware that your brother fostered children?"

"Yeah, he mighta mentioned that. Somethin' about how there was two kinds: the ones who would listen to whateva ya said, and the ones who didn't listen to a thing. He liked the second kind best. He liked to take control over them, to force them to listen to him. He took power over them."

Booth's blood boiled just listening to the man. He chanced a glance over at Brennan who was staring resolutely ahead, her eyes awash with emotion. He knew she was remembering her time in the Earl household, and he wanted to reach out and comfort her, to take her pain away if only for a moment. But he knew he could not do that now. He had a job to do, and they had a suspect to question. "Did your brother ever mention that he abused the children he fostered?"

"He never said that exactly, no. But I know he did. He said enough."

"Mr. Earl, do you have any idea where your brother might be hiding?"

"Nah. Like I said, I never really talked to him much. Listen, what sort of trouble is he in anyway? I didn't think the feds investigated wife beatin's."

"I really can't say, Mr. Earl. I'm going to give you my card. Call me if you think of anything else or if your brother contacts you." Booth handed him a business card.

"Sure. But I'll tell you right now, he ain't comin' here. We went our separate ways a long time ago."

"Thank you for your time, Mr. Earl." They started back toward the car. As soon as they were out of earshot, Booth leaned over to whisper in Brennan's ear. "He's hiding something," he told her. "I think he knows more about his brother's whereabouts than he's letting on."

"Then why didn't you question him further?"

"Because right now, he thinks he got away with lying to us. That means he's going to relax, let his guard down. I'm hoping he's going to try to contact his brother in some way. We'll pretend to leave and just hang out in that copse of trees by the road where his driveway starts. That way, we can follow him if he leaves-Bones!" Brennan had moved away from him, walking toward the left side of the house. "Bones, where are you going?" he questioned, striding quickly to catch up to her.

"What does that look like to you?" she asked, pointing to a small building to the side of the house. The roof was patched haphazardly, and the door was slightly ajar.

"It's a shed. So?"

"So there's a sawhorse out front."

Booth sucked in a breath. "Good catch, Bones." He followed her to the door of the shed, stopping her before she could push it open. "For all we know, he could be waiting in here," he told her, drawing his gun from his holster. "I go first." Carefully, he took her place, pushing her behind him as he nudged the door open with the barrel of his gun. He swept the room quickly; it was a relatively small space crammed with woodworking equipment, but it was quickly obvious that no one lurked inside unseen. There simply was not a good place to hide.

"Okay, Bones, you're clear," he said, reholstering his gun. She stepped around him, moving into the shed. Carefully, she approached what looked like the bottom part to a rocking chair; it was still missing the entire back. She ran her hand carefully over the arm rest, feeling the smooth wood beneath her fingertips.

"It's very well done," Booth observed. "The guy's obviously an expert."

"Yeah." Brennan was quiet for a moment. "Do you know that when I first came to the Earl house, he gave me a rocking chair for my room? I thought it was great. I was so happy, thinking I had finally found a set of foster parents who actually wanted me, who would actually care for me. I thought he was going to be the best foster father I had ever had. And then. . ." Her voice trailed off.

"Oh, Bones. . ."

"I don't need your pity, Booth," she said, abruptly turning away from the chair. "I just want to catch this bastard."

"And we will, Bones. I promise you that."

They left the shed, Booth carefully shutting the door behind them, leaving it cracked just as it had been before. As they started back toward the SUV, something caught Booth's eye. "Hey, Bones, look at that." He walked over to the large object which was covered in a bright blue tarp. Folding back the front of the tarp, he revealed the front end of a large, red pickup truck.

"It's a truck, Booth."

"A 1997 Chevy K2500," Booth corrected.

"Okay. So?"

"So Earl disappeared in 1999. And when he did, he cleaned out his entire bank account. They found his car on the side of the road a couple weeks later. It would stand to reason that he bought himself a new car, but there was no purchases on his credit card, so he must have paid cash."

"You think this car belongs to Earl?"

"It would make sense." Booth bent down to examine the front tire. "There's fresh mud on the tires," he said, pointing to it. As he stood up, he placed his hand on the hood of the car. Suddenly, he was at full attention, the instincts born from years of sniper training on alert. His hand dropped to his waist, and he drew his gun.

"Booth, what's wrong?" Brennan asked, standing as she sealed a plastic bag with the dirt from the tires.

"Bones, get behind me."

"Why?"

"The hood's still warm."

"That doesn't mean anything. It could just be-"

"Bones, for once in your life, could you just listen to me!" He was turning to face her when he suddenly felt something was amiss. He was not sure how to accurately describe the feeling; it was as if the hairs on the back of his neck were standing on end. Without stopping to think, he stepped directly in front of Brennan, spinning to grab her around the waist as he fell to the ground, bringing her with him. He heard the shot as they fell, and he felt something pierce his shoulder, but he was too concentrated on her safety to register it. Three more shots rang out in rapid succession before the forest went quiet. It was an eerie silence, almost as if the forest itself was waiting with baited breath for the shooting to continue.

They lay on the ground for a minute or so, Booth's body fully covering Brennan's. "Booth, I think it's stopped," she told him, pushing his body. As she tried to move him, her hand inadvertently came into contact with the shoulder which the bullet had hit. He groaned in pain. "Booth?" she questioned, suddenly concerned when she realized her hands were sticky with blood.

"I think he got me," Booth moaned, managing to roll off of her with another grunt of pain. Earl was suddenly forgotten with Brennan's concern for her partner. She had already pulled out her cellphone and was dialing 911 as she assessed the damage. She pulled off his suit jacket and immediately noticed the crimson stain which was rapidly spreading over the left side of his white shirt.

"Booth, you have to stop stepping in front of bullets for me," she told him, trying desperately not to think about the fact that his blood was once again staining her hands. Flashes of that night when they went to the karaoke bar kept running through her mind; she remembered the hard plastic chairs and too-white walls of the waiting room at the hospital, the muted western playing on the television in the corner, the coughs and moans of the other patients waiting to be admitted. But most of all, she remembered the doctor emerging from the back hallway, shaking his head. She remembered the feeling of emptiness which engulfed her as he uttered those fateful words: "I'm sorry. He didn't make it." She remembered her refusal to accept that he could be gone, that he would leave her just like that. She remembered Angela's arms around her, her tears wetting Brennan's shoulder as she comforted her friend. She remembered trying to drive home but finding herself at his apartment. She remembered falling asleep that night in his bed, clutching his shirt to her chest. She did not shed any tears that night nor any in the following days because allowing herself to cry would make the entire experience too real. It would make his death real.

In the end, it turned out not to be real, but that had not erased the pain she had felt that entire period. And now, seeing him lying before her with blood spreading across his chest, she could not help but think that she might lose him again.

Quickly, she shook these thoughts from her mind. No, she could not think that way. Not with Booth still very much alive right next to her. Quickly, she ripped his shirt off, heedless of the buttons she sent flying. "I'll always step in front of bullets for you, Bones," he told her. "I can't lose you. Ah!" He flinched as the fabric brushed his wound. Brennan looked down at it, happy to note that the bullet appeared to have pierced his shoulder far from any vital organ.

"You have some pretty heavy bleeding," Brennan observed. "But I don't think it's life-threatening yet. I just need to find a way to stop it until the paramedics get here." She bundled his shirt up and pressed it to the wound. He hissed in pain as she put pressure on the wound, but she did not let up. "Sorry, Booth. I know it hurts, but I need to put pressure on it," she told him.

"S'okay," he muttered. "It's just a. . . flesh wound." He grinned, and she wondered if there was some joke in his statement that she had missed. "Where's Earl?" he inquired, looking around as if expecting him to suddenly appear.

"He got away," Brennan answered simply.

"Oh. I should have figured out he was there sooner. If I had been a little faster-"

"Don't you dare blame yourself, Booth," Brennan told him.

"Feels like my fault." He licked his lips, trying to ignore the stabbing pain which was shooting through his shoulder and radiating down his arm. He was feeling lightheaded and dizzy, most likely from loss of blood. But he refused to give in to unconsciousness. He needed to stay awake, to keep talking to Brennan. They both needed that.

"When the cavalry get here, tell them to take Jason Earl into custody," Booth instructed, breathing in and out slowly. "I have a few additional questions for him."

"Okay," Brennan agreed. "What cavalry?"

Despite the pain, Booth managed a smile which soon morphed into a grimace as his arm throbbed. "It's slang for the cops."

"Oh. Why couldn't you have just said that?"

"Because then we wouldn't be having that conversation."

"That makes no sense, Booth."

"I've just been shot. I'm allowed to not make sense."

They spent a few more minutes bantering, but Brennan soon noticed that Booth was fading. She saw him fighting unconsciousness, knew that he was struggling to ignore the pain in his arm. She was grateful for his fight; as long as he was talking, her worries stayed at bay, for she knew he was safe. When she heard the sirens in the distance, they both smiled in relief. "Took them long enough," Booth remarked. His eyes started to close. "Bones?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm okay. I'm going to be okay. I just need to sleep so the pain goes away," he told her, finally letting his eyes slide shut. Despite his assurances, she frantically reached for his neck, happy to find that his heart still beat steadily. If she were being honest with herself, she was surprised that he had held on as long as he did. His shirt was almost completely soaked through with blood, and she knew the pain must be excruciating. But he had still held on.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

A couple minutes later, she heard the sirens directly behind her, and she called the paramedics over. They came carrying a stretcher which they immediately loaded him onto, placing an oxygen mask over his face and a stethoscope on his chest. "Pulse is steady," one announced.

"Okay, let's get him loaded," another said. Brennan started to follow them, but the first paramedic blocked her. "I'm sorry, ma'am, we don't have room."

She was going to protest, but she suddenly remembered Booth's instructions. "Where are you taking him?" she asked.

"Saint Mary's," one answered. Brennan nodded, and they shut the door before backing out the driveway, the siren still on. Brennan watched the ambulance go, silently telling herself that he would be okay.

The next hour passed in a blur for Brennan. As soon as the cops arrived, she gave them Booth's instructions before taking the SUV to Saint Mary's. She smiled slightly, thinking that she finally was able to drive Booth's car. She only wished it was under better circumstances.

She asked a nurse at the front for his location, and the older woman regarded her critically. "Are you a relation?" she inquired.

"I'm his power of attorney," Brennan answered truthfully.

"Room 309," the nurse finally said after a few seconds of deliberation.

"Thanks." Brennan turned and quickly made her way to the elevator. When she reached room 309, a doctor was exiting, and they nearly collided.

"Who are you?" the doctor inquired.

"I'm his partner," Brennan explained. "And power of attorney. How is he?"

"He's doing fine. I gave him a local anesthetic so that I could remove the bullet from his arm, so he's probably not feeling much pain right now, but it's going to hurt like hell in a few hours. I also stitched up his arm to stop the bleeding. He's awake now though he's still not exactly coherent; he keeps mumbling something about his bones. I assured him that his bones were fine, that the bullet didn't even touch them, but that doesn't seem to help."

"Can I see him?"

"Sure. The nurse is just bandaging him up now." The doctor stepped aside, allowing Brennan to enter the room. She saw Booth half sitting, half lying down on the hospital bed, large white bandages covering his shoulder. A young brunette nurse stood beside him.

"Now, these are going to have to be changed at least twice a day," she explained. "You're probably going to need some help with that." She smiled widely. "I have a fair amount of experience and would be willing to help if you need." She moved closer to him, her hand on his broad chest, and Brennan felt illogically jealous. She cleared her throat loudly, causing them both to look at her.

Booth's face split in a wide grin. "Bones!" he said, reaching out with his good arm. She approached and took his hand. "It's okay, I have someone to change them for me," he informed the nurse as his thumb began to caress the back of her hand.

The nurse now turned to Brennan. "Do you think you can manage or do you need me to explain-"

"I've changed enough bandages to know how to do it. I'll be fine."

"Okay." The nurse seemed skeptical. "Well, if you need anything, just call me," she told Booth, handing him a slip of paper. As she left the room, Brennan turned to Booth, her eyebrows raised. He shrugged.

"What can I say? It must be the charm smile."

"What did she give you?"

"Her number." He held up the paper. "Not that I plan on using it. I have the only nurse I ever want right here." He used their linked hands to bring her closer so that he could kiss her lips. "Speaking of that, would you mind wearing a nurse's uniform? You know, short skirt, white jacket, that little hat?"

"Why would I ever do that?"

He laughed. "Never mind, Bones. It was a joke."

"I don't get it."

"I know. That's why I love you." He kissed her again. As they pulled apart, they heard the unmistakable voice of Angela coming down the hallway. Quickly, Brennan moved away from him, and he dropped her hand just as her friend breezed through the door. Angela quickly surveyed the room, seeming somewhat relieved to find both Booth and Brennan conscious.

"I heard Booth was shot."

"In the shoulder," Booth said. "It didn't do any major damage. I'm just going to have a sling for a few weeks." He glared at the offending object.

"But you're going to be okay?"

"I'll be fine, Angela. It wasn't even my dominant hand."

Angela sighed. "You really need to stop getting yourself shot," she told him.

"If he didn't insist on always playing the hero-" Brennan began

"Save it, Bones. No matter how much you complain, I'm always going to protect you. So you might as well get used to it." He groaned as he pushed himself out of the bed. "Come on. Let's fill out the discharge paperwork and get out of here."

It was nearing dinner time by the time they reached the lab again. Cam and Hodgins immediately approached the three, inquiring about Booth's condition. He showed them the sling, assuring them that he would be fine. "Bones has some dirt for you, Hodgins," Booth announced. "We're going to get some dinner before interviewing a suspect if anyone wants to come." The scientists all looked at each other before setting their equipment aside and following Booth and Brennan out the door.

An hour later, Booth sat in an interrogation room with Jason Earl directly across from him and Brennan beside him, her posture unusually stiff, even for her. "You lied to us, Mr. Earl," Booth said, his voice dangerously low and calm.

"I didn't lie," he argued.

"You're doing it again. Let me let you in on a secret." Booth leaned closer to the older man. "I really don't like when people lie to me," he said.

"I told you, I wasn't lyin'."

"You really don't get this, do you, Mr. Earl? We know that your brother was at your house. We found his truck next to the shed in your yard. He shot at us." Booth indicated his arm. "And if there's one thing I like even less than people lying to me, it's people shooting at my partner and I."

"Look, he just showed up 'bout a week ago. Said he'd give me a thousand dollars if I let him stay at my house for a couple days and not tell anyone about it. It was good money, so I agreed."

"The rocking chair in the shed indicates that he's been there longer."

"That old thing? That's not his; it's mine. Our father taught us both how to work with wood when we was younga. I been workin' on that for a few months now, but I never really have the time to finish it."

"I'm going to ask you again, Mr. Earl. Where is your brother?"

"I don't know."

"You've lied to me before. I'm not inclined to believe you."

"Look, like I said, he only stayed for a couple days, then he disappeared again. He came back again yesterday, said he needed to stay for a couple more days. I didn't know he was goin' to shoot at you, really. I just thought he needed some place to lay low and avoid an angry wife or girlfriend or somethin'."

"How do I know you're telling the truth?"

"Look, man, I swear to you, that's the truth."

"Do you have any way of proving that to me?"

"I get a lawyer, right?" Booth nodded. "Then I want one."

A couple minutes later, Booth and Brennan stood in the observation room, watching Jason Earl fidgeting nervously at the interrogation table. Booth sighed. "I don't think he's involved. I think he's probably telling the truth; his brother is just using him because his house is a convenient place to hide for a little while since it's so far from civilization. And it puts him fairly close to you." Booth looked at her.

"He must have another place somewhere," Brennan pointed out logically. "He has to have been staying somewhere for the past ten years."

"Hopefully Hodgins can give us something from the dirt from the tires."

"I also want to get a closer look at the body now that Fisher has it cleaned. There may be something which was previously hidden by the charring of the bones."

Booth nodded. "I can hold onto him for twenty-four hours. I'll go ahead and let him sweat for a little bit, and we can come back to him later if we need to."

When they reached the lab, Brennan immediately grabbed her lab coat and slid her arms into it as she headed for the central platform. Booth turned toward Hodgins' office, finding the scientist typing furiously at his computer. "Got anything for me, Bug Man?" Booth inquired, leaning over Hodgins shoulder.

"I'm working on analyzing the soil sample you brought right now. There are an interesting mix of particulates in it."

"Interesting good or interesting bad?"

"Interesting good. It's a fairly distinctive mix of limestone, dolomite, and sandstone. There was also pollen from _Abeis balsamea, _the _Picea rubens_ and the _Rhamnus alnifolia._"

"Fascinating. What does that tell me?"

"Well, _Abeis balsamea _can be used as a Christmas tree."

"I don't care. I want to know where the truck was recently."

"Well, _Rhamnus alnifolia _is actually fairly uncommon, so it suggests that the truck was most recently somewhere in this area." Hodgins pulled up a map of the eastern United States with a small area in West Virginia highlighted in red.

"You can't get any more specific than that?" Booth questioned, noticing that the area was around twenty-five square miles. Hodgins shook his head.

"Sorry, man, but this is the best I could do. It's mostly wooded area though I bet there are a number of vacation cabins in the area. My bet is that he's staying in one of those."

"Okay. Thanks, Hodgins." Booth left the office and made his way back out into the central lab area. Brennan was already engrossed in the skeleton on the platform; he smiled at her before taking a seat in front of the same computer he had used earlier where he could work and still keep watch over Brennan. Using Brennan's credentials, he started the computer and began searching for a location in the area Hodgins had indicated where Brett Earl might be staying.

An hour and a half later, he still had not found any piece of property anywhere in the area under Brett Earl's name or the name of any of his family members. Frustrated, Booth shut down the computer and walked up to the platform. Except for the security guard standing outside the glass doors, his back turned to the partners, the lab was deserted. Angela, Hodgins, Cam, and Fisher had all left at least an hour before after he had assured them that there was no further help they could give that night. Walking up behind Brennan, he put his hand on her hip and pressed a kiss against her neck. She jumped slightly at the initial contact before relaxing back against him as he rested his chin on her shoulder.

"Come on, Bones, it's getting late. We should get out of here."

"I'm not quite finished yet."

"Bones." Booth put his good hand on her shoulders and spun her around to face him. "Whatever you need to do, you can do it tomorrow. You're not going to be at all productive if you're tired."

"I'm not tired, Booth," she protested.

"Bones." He covered her hands with his right one. "Come home."

She looked up at him, wondering what he meant by home. After all, they still had separate apartments, so home for him was different than home for her, was it not? But the more she thought about it, the more she realized that her apartment was not truly her home. Sure, it was the place where she lived, but home, home was something different. She did not know exactly what it was, but she knew it was something she had not had in awhile. She supposed it was a feeling of belonging, a feeling that a certain place was where she was meant to be. As irrational as it was, she knew that was home. And for her, that place was with Booth. He was the one who made her feel like she belonged, the one who made sure that she was happy and cared for. For her, Booth was home.

"Fine," she agreed, stripping off her gloves. He smiled triumphantly as she also shed her lab coat. With an arm around her waist, he led her from the lab.

They drove to Booth's apartment. When he stopped the car, she looked at him with her eyebrows raised. He simply shrugged. "He knows where you live, Bones. But he doesn't know where I live. This will just make you harder to find."

"I don't have any clothes."

"Sure you do. You left some at my apartment a couple weeks ago. They're still in my closet. And your toothbrush is still here, too, so there are no excuses." As Brennan followed him out of the car, she wondered when she had started leaving her possessions at his apartment. There was an intimacy in the act, in the knowledge that when she slept over at his house, it was not necessary for her to pack anything, for everything she needed was already there. She was not sure if this knowledge comforted or scared her. She knew that she had never before been comfortable enough with any guy she was dating to leave clothes and a toothbrush at his apartment. On the few occasions when she did spend the night, she would always rush back home the next morning to prepare for work.

"I can see the wheels turning," Booth remarked as they stepped onto the elevator.

"What wheels?" Brennan asked.

"It's an expression. It means I can tell you're thinking hard about something."

"It's nothing, really."

"Hmm. You know, Bones, I have a couple suits at your apartment, too. And the blue toothbrush is mine." And with that, he turned away from her, and they spent the rest of the elevator ride in silence.

When they entered his apartment, he made a beeline for the kitchen and dug around in the freezer for a minute before pulling out a carton of mint chocolate chip ice cream. She smiled when she saw it; he knew it was her favorite. "Can I interest you in a bowl?" he inquired, pulling a scoop from one of the kitchen drawers.

"That sounds good," she agreed. He dished her up a generous portion of the ice cream, placing a spoon in the bowl before passing it to her. She took it from him and gratefully brought the first spoonful to her mouth, letting her eyes slide shut in pleasure. It was a great way to wind down after a particularly grueling day. When she opened her eyes, she found him watching her closely. "Aren't you going to get some, too?" she questioned.

"I figured we could share," he answered.

"What if I don't want to share?"

"Hmm, I think we could rectify that." Leaning forward, he kissed her soundly, invading her mouth with his tongue. He swept the smooth muscle around her mouth slowly, and she moaned softly. When he pulled away, he was wearing a goofy grin. "Tastes pretty good," he announced. She rolled her eyes at him.

"Do you want some?" she offered, holding the spoon out to him. He cocked his head to the side, considering for a moment, before taking the spoon from her. Carefully, he scooped a bite of ice cream onto the utensil. Instead of bringing it to his own mouth, however, he held it out to her. She raised her eyebrows, refusing to open her mouth at first, but he continued to insist, and she eventually acquiesced, parting her lips enough to allow him to slide the spoon between them.

"That was supposed to be for you," she remarked as she swallowed.

"I'll get the next bite," he said, handing the spoon back to her. She rolled her eyes but still scooped a bite of ice cream onto the spoon and held it out to him. Leaning forward, he captured the whole spoon in his mouth, easily licking it clean, his eyes never leaving hers. She knew that logically, the act of feeding each other was a form of overused foreplay, the type she had once scoffed at, but she could not help the flutter of desire which was rapidly growing in her stomach. His eyes were dark as he removed his lips from the spoon, his tongue emerging from his mouth to remove a few spare drops of ice cream from his lips. Brennan swallowed hard.

Again, his good hand covered hers as he removed the spoon, holding out another bite for her to take. She brought it into her mouth with slow deliberation, watching his eyes darken further so that his pupils were barely visible. His finger reached out to catch an errant drop of ice cream, swiping it from her upper lip before bringing it to his mouth. Before he could take the finger into his mouth, however, Brennan stopped the motion of his hand, tugging it toward her again. Carefully, she brought it into her mouth, licking the sticky treat from the digit. He moaned slightly, leaning forward. Brennan stopped his movement with a hand on his chest.

"We still haven't finished the ice cream," she pointed out. Booth groaned. This woman was going to be the death of him; he knew that. Without hesitation, she hopped up onto the counter in front of him, taking the ice cream into her hands. She held out a second bite to Booth which he took and swallowed without hesitation. There was no longer a reason to prolong the experience; he was already aroused enough, and he could tell from the slight flush of her cheeks that she was, too. Again taking the spoon from her, he fed her a third bite, letting his hand brush against her inner thigh as he moved it toward her mouth. He heard her sharp inhalation of breath and smiled slyly. Let's see if she still wanted to finish the entire bowl of ice cream once he was through with her.

He had to hand it to her; she certainly had an impressive amount of self-control. As soon as she had finished the bite, she took the spoon from him to feed him again. While he licked the spoon clean, she let her second hand trail down his chest, giving him a taste of his own medicine, once more continuing the game of give and take that was so ubiquitous in their relationship. He groaned. It really was not fair that she had the use of both hands.

The bites were growing larger now in their attempt to finish the bowl of ice cream as soon as possible. Neither was willing to stop until the bowl was empty, however, for such an action would be akin to admitting defeat, something they simply could not do. No, they would tough it out until the end even if it killed them. This time, when Booth took the spoon from Brennan, he let his knuckles brush the seam of her pants between her legs, feeling the heat of her desire through the fabric. He saw her body jerk forward slightly in reaction, but she still refused to give in, instead simply opening her mouth so she could take the ice cream from the spoon. Some of the melted ice cream slid off the spoon and onto the side of his hand. Leaning forward, she stuck out her tongue and used it to remove the dripping ice cream. Dammit, why did she have to do that? Booth moaned, barely registering as she took the spoon from his hand. His mouth opened automatically when she brought it to his lips.

They continued in that manner for the next few bites, teasing one another as they worked their way through the bowl of ice cream. Their desire had built to an almost unbearable level, and Booth was finding it increasingly difficult to form a coherent thought. "Last bite," Brennan told him, taking a final spoonful of ice cream from the bowl. Their eyes locked as she brought the spoon to his lips.

"How about we share it?" he questioned, taking the ice cream into his mouth before crushing his lips to hers. Their tongues tangled together as the taste of ice cream flooded both their mouths. Booth's good hand moved to the collar of her blouse. He fumbled with the button for a moment, cursing when he realized how difficult it was to undo the buttons one-handed. He grunted in frustration, his movements growing more harried. Brennan stilled his hand before he could completely ruin the blouse. Quickly, she undid all the buttons herself, dropping her arms so that the blouse slid from her shoulders. His shirt came off next, and she slid down from the counter, pressing their bodies together without breaking the kiss.

Awhile later, they stood together, breathing heavily, the sweat on their bodies slowly cooling in the air conditioned room. Booth leaned his forehead against hers, placing his good arm on the counter beside her to support himself. "Sorry. That can't have been the most comfortable position," he apologized.

She leaned forward and kissed him soundly. "Don't worry; it was fine." Leaning forward, she whispered in his ear, "I'm beginning to like this whole christening thing." He smiled.

"What do you say we christen the bedroom?"

"I believe that's already been christened. Many times."

"Well, we can always christen it again." He grabbed her hand, and they walked together to the bedroom.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Booth woke before the alarm the next morning. Rolling over, he turned it off before pushing himself out of bed and donning a pair of sweatpants. Quietly, he walked out to the living room to begin his workout, gritting his teeth against the pain in his shoulder as he held his arm against his chest while doing his first set of crunches. Of course, he had to settle for only doing bicep curls with one arm, but that did not stop him. And when he reached his push up sets, he simply started them with one arm, refusing to change his routine because of some silly injury.

"You know, you should probably go easy on yourself for awhile," a voice remarked. He turned to see Brennan standing in the doorway in one of his dress shirts. He smiled at her, thinking of how beautiful she looked wearing his shirt, her long, toned legs displayed prominently from beneath the white fabric.

"If you go easy, you'll never get anywhere," he told her, his breathing heavy.

"If you don't go easy, you might never heal, and then you definitely won't go anywhere," she said, approaching him. "Let me see your shoulder."

"It's fine." He tried to move it to prove his point, but he simply ended up wincing in pain. She raised her eyebrows.

"It doesn't seem fine."

"It just hurts a little. I was just shot; it makes sense that it would."

She looked over his arm carefully. "Well at least you don't seem to have reopened the wound," she observed. "You still need to be careful."

He grunted noncommittally. "I'm going for a run. Feel like joining me?"

"Are you listening to a word I'm saying, Booth?"

"It's just a run. Nothing to strain my arm."

Brennan sighed in resignation. "Fine. Let me go get changed."

After their run, Brennan helped Booth wrap his shoulder so that he could take a shower before taking one herself. Once they were both dressed, she changed his bandages, happy to note that the stitches were all still in place despite Booth's inability to follow the doctor's advice and take it easy.

They stopped for coffee and bagels, arriving at the Jeffersonian just before 8:00 to find Cam, Hodgins, Angela, and Fisher already there. "Nice of you to join us, Sweetie," Angela remarked, watching Brennan walk in with Booth at her side. "Did you have a good night last night?"

"Have you discovered anything else?" Brennan questioned, ignoring Angela's question. Booth took her coffee from her hand as she pulled on her lab coat, handing it back to her when she had placed the garment over her shoulders. She took another large swallow of the liquid before handing it to him again as she pulled on latex gloves and joined Fisher on the platform.

"I was just about to do a closer examination of the bones," Fisher announced.

"Okay, good. Hodgins?"

"I'm finishing up my analysis of the burnt material surrounding Lauren Earl."

"And?"

"And I found nothing of significance. Some cotton fibers and wood, likely from whatever was used to build the fire. The accelerant was gasoline."

Booth nodded. "I'm going to get a list of everyone who owns property in the area that Hodgins pinpointed last night. Hopefully we can link one of them to Earl." He sat down at the computer which he was now thinking he should claim as his own and logged in. As he worked, he glanced periodically up at the podium, assuring himself with each glance that Brennan was still there, that she was still safe. He knew that nothing was going to happen to her here, but that did not stop him from worrying.

By lunchtime, he was starving and no closer to finding Earl than he had been at the beginning of the day. He had a list of all people who owned property in the twenty-five square mile area that Hodgins had provided, but he had not yet been able to find a link to Earl. So far, he had worked his way through about half of the two-hundred person list. He sighed and rubbed his eyes. Glancing up at the platform yet again, he saw that Bones was still hard at work. Pushing himself up from his chair with a grunt of pain when he accidently jostled his left arm, he approached the platform and swiped his card to step on.

"Come on, Bones, let's go get some lunch," he told her. Surprisingly, she went without complaint; she simply turned around, nodded, and followed him out of the lab. As they walked to the car, he asked, "So, did you find anything new?"

"No. There are a number of injuries on both victims, but they all simply indicate chronic abuse, something we already knew. There is nothing on the bodies which gives any indication of Earl's current whereabouts."

"Hey, we're going to find him, okay?" Booth cupped her chin in his hand, forcing her to look up so that she could see the sincerity in his eyes. She nodded, walking around the SUV to enter on the passenger's side. As Booth opened the door, he glanced into the car and suddenly noticed something which chilled his blood.

"Bones, I want you to turn and run as far away from this car as fast as you can," he told her, his eyes wide with fear as he stared at the blinking red light under the passenger's seat. It was barely visible from his current vantage point; in fact, it was a miracle he had noticed it, but he was extremely thankful he had.

Without hesitation, Brennan turned and sprinted away from the SUV, Booth following close behind. He threw an arm around her shoulders as they ran, knocking them both to the concrete just as the roar of the explosion sounded behind them, growing louder as it echoed off the concrete walls of the parking structure. Brennan felt a wall of hot air rush over them as they lay prone on the ground, Booth's body on top of hers, shielding her as always. She looked up at him, noticing the fear which shadowed his normally warm chocolate eyes, and she automatically wrapped her arms around him, somehow knowing that in that moment, that was exactly what he needed.


	6. Chapter 6

Later, they both sat in the back of an ambulance as paramedics checked them over for damage. Brennan escaped with only a few cuts and bruises from her fall to the pavement, but Booth had fared slightly worse. He had a number of abrasions on his neck, arms, and back from small shards of glass which one EMT was currently removing over his grumbles and complaints. He had also reopened the stitches on his shoulder though they were being replaced. All in all, it had ended much better than it would have had Booth not noticed the bomb.

"Sweetie!" a voice called, cutting through the chatter of EMT's and police cars. "Are you all right? What happened?"

"There was a bomb in the car," Brennan explained. "Booth noticed it before either of us got in and told me to run. As we were running, it went off, and he pushed me to the ground with more force than was strictly necessary."

"Just trying to save your life, Bones," he muttered irritably, his breath coming out in a low hiss as the EMT put the needle through his skin to stitch up the bullet wound.

"I'm with Booth on this one, Sweetie. It sounds like he saved your life. You really should give the guy a break."

"Yeah, Bones, listen to Ange. Ow!" Booth glared at the EMT who was stitching up his arm. "Angela, I'm going to need you to get the tapes from the parking garage. See who came in here between 8:00 this morning and right now."

"I'm already on it. Security's sending them over right now. They're pretty embarrassed that someone got past them and into the parking lot."

"Well, they should be. Bones could have been killed. Ow! Goddammit, is it really necessary to poke that many holes in my skin?" He addressed the paramedic with the last question, but the man simply ignored his protests.

"Booth, I'm going to go back with Angela to go over the tapes," Brennan announced, sliding down from the back of the ambulance.

"Oh, no you don't. Bones. Bones!" Booth quickly slid down from the ambulance to follow her, ignoring the protests of the two EMT's who were still attending to his injuries. The needle and thread still hung from his arm, and blood still oozed from the wound, making him a rather imposing figure as he faced the anthropologist. "You are not leaving my sight, Bones. You stay right here with me until Betsy Ross finishes up with me. Then we'll look at the tapes together."

"Booth, you don't have to protect me."

He scoffed. "Like hell I don't."

"I'll be fine. All I'll be doing is walking back to the lab. Nothing's going to happen."

"Newsflash, Bones, something did happen. And I'll be damned if I'm going to let anything else happen. You mean too much to me to lose. So if you don't mind, can you please just humor me and stay with me until I finish with this bloodletting?" He jerked his head down toward the thread which still hung from his arm, swaying back and forth as he quivered with frustration. After a long pause, Brennan nodded. He sighed. "Good." Together, they walked back to the ambulance.

Fifteen minutes later, Brennan breezed into Angela's office, Booth following close behind her, mumbling something about needles and knowing exactly where he'd like to stick them. His dress shirt and sports jacket were off, both of them having been torn up and blood-stained from the explosion, leaving him in only a white undershirt which was similarly bloodstained. A fresh white bandage graced his shoulder, accompanied by two more on his left arm and one on his right, and the tears in his undershirt revealed the presence of a number of other bandages in various places on his back. Angela looked up as she heard the two partners approach, and her eyes took in his muscular figure appreciatively. "Angela!" Brennan said loudly, causing her friend to turn to her.

"What? A girl can look but not touch, Sweetie."

"The tapes, Angela."

"Yeah." Angela hit a few keys on her keyboard, and a slightly grainy black and white picture of the parking lot appeared. The angle of the camera allowed Brennan to clearly make out Booth's black SUV. "9:18 this morning," Angela announced, glancing at the time stamp. Brennan watched for a couple seconds as a truck pulled up next to the SUV, partially blocking the camera's view of the vehicle. A figure dressed in dark clothes got out of the front seat of the truck and begin to jimmy the lock on the passenger's door.

"That's Earl's truck," Booth observed needlessly as the man moved the jimmy up and down in the space between the window and the car door.

"You can't really tell much from this angle," Brennan said, trying to make out the man's features. She could make out that he was approximately six feet tall and around two hundred pounds with broad shoulders, but she could not discern anything else about his appearance from the grainy picture.

"Unfortunately, there's not a better angle," Angela told her. "The SUV blocks your view of him from all the other cameras." They watched as he opened the door before removing something from the back of the truck and placing it in the SUV. He disappeared from view for a couple minutes then; when he reappeared, he closed the door of the SUV, climbed in his truck, and drove away.

"Is there footage of him entering and leaving the parking structure?" Booth inquired. Angela nodded, bringing up a video from another camera that showed Earl sliding a card through a reader at the front gate. The bar raised, allowing him to drive into the parking lot. Unfortunately, his head was turned the wrong way, preventing the three from being able to clearly see his face.

"Wait, how did he get an access card to the parking lot?" Brennan inquired.

Booth shook his head slowly, watching as Angela brought up another camera that showed the truck heading further into the parking structure. Again, there was no clear picture of Earl's face. Suddenly, the solution presented itself to Booth. "Bones, where do you keep your access card to the parking lot when you're not using it?"

"In my car at my apartment." Her eyes suddenly went wide as she caught on. Before Booth could stop her, she had turned and started out the door.

"Angela, go through the rest of that tape and see if you can find me a face," Booth instructed before racing after his partner.

They soon realized that transportation was going to be a problem. Fortunately, it was a problem quickly solved when one of the police officers documenting the scene of the explosion offered them a ride. They found Brennan's car quickly, and she unlocked it, throwing open the passenger's door. Opening the glove box, she dug around for a minute before pulling her hand out, shaking her head. "It's not here," she announced. Booth nodded; he had expected as much.

Unfortunately, there were no cameras in the parking structure of Brennan's apartment building, so Booth and Brennan returned to the Jeffersonian with no additional leads. They found Angela still in her office. "Find anything?" Booth questioned, letting out a deep breath as he collapsed into a chair. Though he would never admit it to anyone else, he was hurting. Bad.

"I haven't gotten a face yet, but I found something else you guys might like to see." Angela highlighted something on the screen, and a magnified picture of a baseball cap appeared in the corner of the screen. She pressed a few buttons, and the image cleared enough for Booth to make out an image on the cap.

"I've seen that before," he remarked, staring at the image.

"It's the logo of a local fast food place," Angela told him. "I have the name and address right here." She handed him a slip of paper.

"Thanks, Ange, you're the best." Booth took the paper, motioning for Brennan to follow him out of the office.

The officer drove them to the fast food joint, following Booth and Brennan as they entered. The smell of burgers and fries wafted around them as the door opened, reminding Booth that he had yet to eat lunch that day. Unfortunately, he had no time to do so now. They were close to finding Earl; he could sense it. And until they found him and put him safely behind bars, he had more pressing matters to attend to than his protesting stomach.

Approaching the counter, Booth removed his badge and showed it to the teenager at the register. "I need to speak to the manager," Booth told the kid. The teenager simply nodded and disappeared into the back, emerging a couple minutes later with a man in his early forties. Booth wasted no time with introductions; instead, he removed the picture that Angela had made by aging Earl from his pocket.

"Do you know this man?" he inquired, unfolding the photo. The manager looked at it for a few seconds.

"Sure. That's Bob Mason. He works evenings." Booth and Brennan exchanged a look.

"Do you have any idea where we might find Bob Mason?" Booth asked.

The manager shrugged. "He hasn't been into work in about a week now. If you find him, tell him he's fired."

"Thanks." Booth turned and left, Brennan and the policeman following behind him. "I recognize the name," Booth said, already pulling out his phone and dialing Charlie. "It was one of the names on the list of property owners."

Fifteen minutes later, they were pulling onto the interstate, heading for West Virginia. Booth was on the phone with the FBI, coordinating back-up. Brennan leaned forward from where she sat in the back seat, turning to Booth. "Why do I have to sit in the back?" she questioned.

He hung up the phone and turned to look at her. "Because we have the guns," he told her simply. She glared at him.

"Only because you won't let me have one."

"We're not seriously going to have this argument now, are we?" he asked.

"What's wrong with the current time? We have a drive of at least three hours ahead of us, and it's not like we can do anything else."

"Look, Bones, you shot someone."

"Who was trying to destroy evidence."

Booth glanced over at the police officer, Poole, who was trying to hide his smile. "Fine, Bones," he said, reaching down to remove the gun he wore at his ankle. "Just make sure you only use it if it's absolutely necessary. Kay?"

"I'm capable of handling a gun, Booth," Brennan said, taking the gun from his hands and tucking it into the waistband of her pants. She was quiet for a minute before asking, "Now that I have a gun, can I sit up front?"

"Where exactly do you plan on sitting, Bones? My lap?"

"I feel that would be highly inappropriate behavior considering we're working, Booth," she said, hoping her tone did not betray the fact that his suggestion appealed to her.

"It was a joke, Bones."

By the time they reached West Virginia, it was past 6:00. They stopped to grab some food at a small diner. Booth ordered the steak, but when the waitress brought it, he realized he had a problem. It was nearly impossible to cut a steak with only one hand. Brennan recognized his predicament quickly and reached out to take his plate from him. "Here, Booth, let me do it," she offered.

"I don't need you to mother me, Bones," he muttered irritably.

"Look, you don't have full use of one of your arms. It's only natural that there are certain tasks you will be unable to perform. Just let me help."

"Fine." He pushed his plate toward her, and she made quick work of the steak before giving it back to him. Still sulking slightly, he speared a piece with his fork and began to eat. Brennan shook her head at his childish behavior.

Poole watched the interaction with interest. "How long have you two been together?" he questioned.

"We've been partners for over three years now," Brennan answered.

"That's a pretty good run."

"We work well together."

"You bicker like a married couple," he informed them.

"Are you implying something?" Booth asked.

"Just an observation."

They spent the rest of the meal chatting comfortably. Though the conversation was dominated by Booth and Brennan, they attempted to bring Poole in as often as possible. He did not mind being left out, however; it was fascinating to watch the two partners interact. He quickly noticed that when their debates started, they often acted as if the rest of the world disappeared.

When the waitress asked if they wanted dessert, Booth declined her offer, and Brennan looked at him curiously. "No pie?" she questioned.

"Not right now. Right now, I'm going to focus on catching this bastard. And when we do that, we'll come back here, and then I'll have my pie." The waitress brought the check, and Booth grabbed it before either Poole or Brennan could. He waved off their offers to pay, throwing enough cash to cover the bill and the tip on the table before standing. "Come on, let's get going," he told them.

When they arrived at the small cabin in the woods, they found it already surrounded by police cars and a couple black SUV's Brennan knew belonged to the FBI. Booth flashed his badge as he approached the officer who appeared to be giving the orders. "Special Agent Booth," Booth introduced. "What's going on here?"

"Nice of you to join us, Agent Booth. I'm Sheriff Dickens. We came here after getting your call, but the suspect had already fled."

"The truck's still here," Booth observed. "He must have fled on foot. Check the woods and surrounding area for any sign of him. He can't have gotten far."

The sheriff peered at him critically. "I know how to do my job, Agent Booth. Officers have been searching this area for nearly two hours now. Unfortunately, your guy seems to know this area well, so we've been unsuccessful so far."

Booth growled in frustration. Suddenly, he heard a shout behind him. "Sheriff, I think we've got him!" one of the officers yelled. "He was hiding in a rock outcropping a couple miles from here." The officer came into sight pushing a man in his late fifties in front of him. The man's hands were handcuffed together, but he still wore a triumphant smile. Booth had to admit, Angela had done a good job; the man bore an uncanny resemblance to the artist's rendition.

"This your guy?" the sheriff inquired, grabbing hold of Earl.

"That's him," Booth confirmed.

"Hullo, Temperance," Earl greeted, his grin widening. Brennan stepped forward, raising her hand so that she could deliver a hard punch to his jaw. Booth winced as he watched Earl's head jerk sideways. He knew that had hurt.

"That felt good," Brennan announced, turning to Booth. Booth smiled at her.

"I bet it did."

"Don't you think that was a bit out of line, Agent Booth?" Sheriff Dickens asked.

"What? I didn't see anything. Did you, Poole?"

Poole shook his head. "Nope, nothing."

"See, sheriff, nothing happened. Now, if you'll hand over my suspect, we'll just be on our way. Thank you for your help."

"Agent Booth?"

"Yes, Sheriff?"

Sheriff Dickens opened his mouth to say more, but he abruptly closed it again. "You're welcome," he said simply. Booth nodded, grabbing Earl's wrists and pulling him roughly toward the FBI SUV's.

"Let's go home, Booth," Brennan said.

"Home sounds good," Booth agreed.

They road back to the Jeffersonian in one of the FBI SUV's. This time, both Booth and Brennan sat in the back, maintaining a professional distance between them though each one was itching to touch the other, to celebrate their victory together. However, they managed to maintain decorum during the entire ride back and their stop at the Hoover Building where Booth placed Earl in FBI custody. By the time Booth had filled out all the necessary paperwork for the arrest, it was after midnight. He rubbed his eyes tiredly, entering his office where he found Brennan stretched out across his sofa, fast asleep. A loose strand of hair had fallen over her face, and it rose and fell slowly as she inhaled and exhaled. A soft smile played on his lips as he knelt in front of her, tenderly brushing the strand of hair out of her face. When that did not rouse her, he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead. She blinked her eyes, slowly coming awake.

"What time is it?" she questioned.

"12:21," Booth announced, glancing at his watch.

"The diner's closed now. You won't be able to get your pie," Brennan said.

He smiled again. Leave it to Brennan to remember that. "It's not that important. Besides, I have some frozen pie at home. It won't be as good, but at least it's pie."

"You still have ice cream?"

His eyes darkened at the memory. "I think I can dig some up," he told her.

"Let's go home, Booth."

Home. He sure liked the sound of that.


	7. Chapter 7

Friday night found Brennan sitting in her office typing up a report for the latest case she had finished from limbo. The sound of footsteps outside her office caused her to grow instantly alert, and her fingers paused on the keyboard as she looked to the door. A few seconds later, two familiar figures appeared. The smallest of them barreled toward her, jumping into her lap as he wrapped his arms around her. "Dr. Bones, I missed you!" Parker declared, hugging her tightly.

"I missed you, too, Park," she told him, returning the embrace. During the month that she and Booth had been together, Parker and Brennan had grown much closer. He thought she had the "coolest job ever," and he begged his father to take him to the Jeffersonian. He was even more impressed when she introduced him to the head of the dinosaur exhibit, a meeting he did not stop talking about for days afterwards. Despite Brennan's misgivings about her ability with children, Booth had found that she was wonderful with Parker. He worshipped her; his first question whenever Booth picked him up from his mother's was always about when they would see her. Booth only hoped that she could see how great she was with him.

Parker was the only one they had told about their relationship, and they were both surprised that he had managed to keep their secret so far. At six, Parker had a tendency to let things slip when he did not mean to. Still, they felt that he had a right to know about them, and so they had told him after having him promise to keep the information a secret. Parker seemed thrilled about the clandestine nature of their relationship and had eagerly agreed to keep the secret.

After a long hug, Brennan took her arms from around him and held up her right hand, fingers spread wide. "Distal phalanges," Parker recited carefully, pointing to her fingertips. Brennan had been attempting to teach him the names of all the bones in the body at his insistence. So far, they had completed the hand, wrist, and arm. "Middle phalanges. Proximal phalanges. Metacarpals. Trapezium, trapezoid, capitate, hamate, pisiform, triquetrum, lunate, scaphoid." He looked up at her, and she confirmed the accuracy of his recitation with a nod. He smiled broadly and raised his own hand which she promptly high-fived, a gesture he had taught her.

"You're turning my son into a squint," Booth remarked, his tone and the wide grin on his face clearly betraying that he was far from annoyed with this fact.

"There's nothing wrong with learning," Brennan objected.

"I know, Bones. I'm teasing." Booth was sorely tempted to lean forward and kiss her, but he held himself back, knowing they were still at the Jeffersonian.

"We brought food, Dr. Bones!" Parker announced as Booth held up the white take-out bags. "It's Thai."

"That's excellent. I'm pretty hungry," Brennan said, saving and closing the report before locking her screen. Booth watched her, still smiling. He knew how much Brennan hated to stop while she was working, but she always seemed willing to drop whatever she was doing for Parker. He knew she would make a great mother.

"I haven't told you what happened in school this week," Parker said, leading her over to the couch where Booth already sat, spreading the food out on the coffee table. Parker sat beside his father, patting the seat beside him for Brennan to take.

Booth laughed. "Trust me, Bones, you'll like this story."

"On Wednesday, we were singing this song that Mrs. Patterson made us sing. I don't really like her much. But there was one part of it where it said that the finger bones were connected to the hand bones and that those were connected to the arm bones. I told her that wasn't true, I told her that there were no such things as finger bones, they were actually the phalanges which were connected to the metacarpals, and that there wasn't one hand bone or one arm bone. And I tried to tell her the real names, but she just told me that I should sing the song like she said and not try to show off. But I said that she shouldn't be teaching us the wrong thing, and then she got mad at me and put me in time out. But that was okay 'cuz while I was over there I came up with my own version of the song. Wanna hear?"

"Okay, Parker."

"The distal phalanges are connected to the. . . middle phalanges. The middle phalanges are connected to the. . . proximal phalanges. The proximal phalanges are connected to the. . . metacarpals. The metacarpals are connected to the. . . carpals." Here, he paused in his singing to explain. "I was going to use the actual names, but there were too many."

"It sounds better this way," Brennan assured him.

"The carpals are connected to the. . . radius and ulna. The radius and ulna are connected to the. . . humerus. Oh those bones, oh those bones, oh those skeleton bones." As he continued the chorus, Brennan's eyes met Booth's over the top of his head. He chuckled and nodded.

"Yes, he really did. Mrs. Patterson was none too pleased with the incident. Evidently, she told Rebecca who informed her that it was my fault, so I got an earful today from both women. Rebecca thinks you're spending too much time with him."

"Am I?"

"Nah, she's just jealous. Parker loves you, and I love how good you are with him. I think it's great that you're spending so much time with him."

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely."

"Are you listenin', Dr. Bones?" Parker inquired.

"Of course, Park." Brennan listened as he finished the song. He was silent for a few seconds before remarking, "Now you just have to teach me the rest of the bones, too, so I can finish writing the _real_ song."

"Okay, Park, I'll do that."

"Promise?"

"Pinky swear." Brennan held out her finger to perform another gesture that Parker had taught her. As their fingers locked, Booth looked on proudly. He had never before let a woman he dated grow close to Parker; in fact, he had always tried to keep his love life separate from his relationship with his son. He did not want his son to grow too attached to any woman and then have to deal with the loss if the relationship did not last. But with Brennan, Booth was not at all worried about the bond that his son had formed. Because he knew their relationship would last a lifetime.

After they finished eating, Brennan and Parker started on the bones of the foot while Booth cleaned up the trash. Once he had dumped it, he watched his partner and son interact for a few minutes, smiling as Brennan tickled Parker's foot unexpectedly, causing the small boy to giggle. He could not believe she thought she was bad with children. After they had worked their way up to his ankle, Booth cleared his throat, and two sets of eyes turned to him. "We had a surprise for Bones, remember, Bub?" he reminded his son. Parker's eyes went wide.

"Oh, yeah! Come on, Dr. Bones, it's in the car!" He jumped up from the couch, grabbing her hand and tugging. Brennan laughed.

"Okay, Park, I'm coming," she said, standing. She looked to Booth, silently asking what the surprise was, but he simply shook his head, determined not to ruin the moment for her or his son.

Parker led her out of the building and into the parking structure, making his way inexorably to his father's SUV (the FBI had issued him a new one after the. . . unfortunate occurrence with his previous one). Booth followed slightly behind them, watching as Parker danced around in excitement. He unlocked the trunk and pulled out two aluminum boards. Confusion crossed Brennan's face.

"They're street luges, Dr. Bones," Parker explained.

"Street luges?"

"Yeah, you lay down on them and go down hills really fast and stuff."

Brennan looked to Booth for more information. "A buddy of mine used to work for LAPD. Evidently, street luging is fairly popular out there. He introduced me to it and loans me his boards sometimes. Basically, you just lay down on the board and put your feet there," Booth instructed, pointing. "And then you let yourself go. Lean to either side to steer it."

Brennan eyed the board warily as he handed it to her. "I don't know about this, Booth," she told him. "I'm not sure I can do it."

"You'll do fine," he assured her, placing a second board on the ground. "Trust me, it's a lot of fun."

"Yeah, Dr. Bones, it's really fun!" Parker exclaimed.

"Are you sure you can do it with your arm?" Brennan questioned.

"It'll be fine. I'll just lay it right here across my chest and not move it," Booth said, already sitting on the board. He motioned for Parker to join him, and the small boy eagerly clambered between his legs. Booth looked up at Brennan. "Come on, Bones, just give it a shot," he pleaded. Brennan sighed and placed her board on the ground beside his. "Okay. Remember, lean to turn. And you can usually lean further than you think," he told her, laying back. Parker lay on top of him, his small body covering his father's chest. Booth used his good hand to give the board a push to get it started before reaching up to grab Parker, holding him close as the board started to roll, picking up speed on the incline of the parking structure. "Remember to stay still, Parker. We don't want to have to bail out again," Booth told his son. Parker obediently stilled as they reached the bottom of the first row, and Booth leaned, turning the luge, careful to avoid the lone car which was still parked in the lot.

Brennan fell behind on the first hill, still unsure of what she was doing. When the luge began to pick up speed, she put her foot on the ground, slowing herself down somewhat. She watched Booth turn the first corner with practiced ease and took a deep breath. She could do this. It was simple physics.

She picked up her foot from the ground, allowing the luge to gain speed. When she came to the first turn, she banked hard to the right, remembering what Booth had said about always being able to turn more than you thought. She was rewarded as the luge moved smoothly around the turn, starting down the second row. She heard the laughter of the Booth boys in front of her, and she could not help but join in. Booth was right; it was fun. Speeding down the parking structure, feeling the air whoosh over her face, a childish euphoria that she had not felt in a long time overcame her, and she gave a loud, very un-Brennan-like whoop. She was not sure what brought on the sound, but it seemed appropriate at the time. During the time she had spent with Booth, she had found herself trying many things she never before would have considered attempting. Surprisingly, she had enjoyed most of them. His childish enthusiasm was often infectious, and she was laughing much more than she had in a long time.

Much too soon, she reached the end of the parking lot where Booth and Parker were already waiting, the street luge tucked under Booth's good arm. "Have fun?" he questioned, knowing the answer from the smile on her face.

"I did," she told him.

"Good. What do you say we race next time?" he asked.

Brennan did not even stop to consider. "You're on," she told him. His grin widened and Parker cheered as the three started up the stairs. Two months before, Brennan would have called the race a childish game and likely would have simply refused to participate. Now, however, she realized that some of the most worthwhile endeavors were those which did not have a clear point. In the end, it would not matter who won the race. What mattered was the smile on the small boy's face as he climbed on top of his father. What mattered was the laughter of the three people mingling together as they started down the first hill. What mattered was the way that Booth held tightly to Parker as they took the first turn, shifting slightly so that if something were to go wrong, the small boy would come out of the incident unharmed. What mattered were the two people in front of Brennan, two of the people who she cared most about in the world. What mattered was that they were happy and enjoying themselves and that she, too, was happy and relaxed. What mattered was that despite genetics, they were family.


End file.
